Metzengerstein
by aikaterini
Summary: The events of the short story "Metzengerstein" as seen through the eyes of young Frederick Metzengerstein. One-shot.


Disclaimer: Right now I can't think of anything witty to say, so I'll just get right to the point. "Metzengerstein: A Tale in Imitation of the German" does not belong to me and never will. It is Edgar Allan Poe's, period.

Author's Note: This is one of my favorite tales of Poe and it's one of his least known, I think. Those who haven't read it should try to. It's narrated in third person and one of the things that struck me was how few words actually come out of the title character's mouth, and he's the main character! So I tried to imagine the story from his perspective. I hope you enjoy!

"Metzengerstein"

Let's see, what do I have now?

All of my father's estates and possessions are now mine, including, of course, Castle Metzengerstein, where I have lived all my life. It is a grand building, great and immense. It unfortunately has the precarious position of being very close to the castle of my family's rivals, the Berlifitzings, but I am not afraid. Why should I, when my family's glory is embodied in virtually every tapestry in my castle? How glorious…to be reminded…

I suppose I should feel sorry for my mother's demise. And that of my father, also. I am fifteen, but I am now an orphan. I am now…alone.

Alone to determine my own decisions, alone to control my own life! I am fifteen, but age is not significant in a noble's court. In my position, years mean nothing. All my life, I have willed myself to become independent, to learn how to take care of myself. My parents will no more influence my life in death than they had in life.

Now I can grasp the reins of my life at last. I can declare myself as my own person in any way I can, and I care not a fig how I do it.

* * *

Let's see, what do I have now? 

I have a host of obedient subjects who by now have learned that it is not wise to oppose my will and that no actions on their part would spare them if they were to do so. Their servitude is both satisfying and sickening. I don't know why it is sickening. I should be delighted that no one should defy me, that I should have dominion over everything, over all.

I hear the whispers and rumors that seep through the walls of the manor about my conduct, or lack thereof. I know that I have not behaved in a manner fitting to a baron. I – I cannot even bear to reflect on it now. I don't know why it is, any more than I know why the groveling of my subjects revolts me at times.

But to be forced into this position, this state of identity, revolts me even further. I have no wish to be identified as simply a Metzengerstein, the son of a noble, and if committing atrocities is the only way I can be recognized for myself, then so be it! Scandals are always remembered more frequently than good deeds, after all.

Yet perhaps I have not remembered everything.

Count Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing. He and his wife are the only Berlifitzings left, so it is said. They have no children and are above the child-rearing age. They have never inflicted any pain upon me personally, any offense…

But that is beside the point. Count Berlifitzing is predetermined to be my rival, due to the long-standing enmity that our families share. Therefore, it does not matter if he himself has never caused me any harm. It makes no difference who _we_ are, individually. We are nothing but pawns in the web that our ancestors wove for us.

I refuse to be a pawn.

I refuse to be a slave to my family's legacy. I want my life to be my own, on my own terms. I shall destroy the last remnants of the legacy to win my freedom…even if I have to destroy the last Berlifitzing to do it.

* * *

Let's see, what do I have now? 

I have in my possession a fiery, irrepressible steed, a stallion whose nostrils blow out air like flames, whose hooves stomp against the ground like thunder, whose coat itself is the color of fire. I have a steed that bows down to no one, that is the terror of men.

It is my terror as well.

No one notices. Everyone remarks on how extraordinary it is that I am the only one who can control the creature, the only one who can ride him. Perhaps the bumbling little page observes the fear and anxiety I feel when mounting him, but he is only an insignificant servant, no one will take his word over mine. The idiots at court quite naturally assume something to be amiss with my prized stallion, but can never arrive at a suitable explanation. As if the letters WVB imprinted clearly on the horse's forehead did not reveal its identity.

I know who it is. It is he – the very person I sought to destroy. He was trying to save a favorite portion of his horses while his home was ablaze. The old fool didn't escape fast enough and perished. Or so I thought.

I don't know whether this form is some sort of compensation for his trouble. But I do know that it is no compensation for mine. Instead of destroying the legacy, I am now forced to relive it. No one knows the pains I take to dominate the savage beast, that fiery demon of the tempest. It is a fruitless effort. I ride him every day and no matter how swiftly and forcefully I ride, he is still as defiant and fierce as ever.

Good God, now I cannot rid my brain of that cursed prophecy: '_A lofty name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortality of Berlifitzing_.' As a child, I was made aware of this maddening prediction, yet I still cannot make sense of it to this day. Why can I not forget it? This will not do. I cannot let him triumph, I cannot, I will ride him to the far corners of the earth if it will subdue him! Through wind and rain, through snow and fog, I shall ride and I shall break him and I shall return him to the stables a broken pony. I shall starve him, I shall whip him, I shall turn him into dog's meat! Yes, I shall break him and feed him to the dogs and then I shall laugh and I will be free and I –

No, I must keep my head, I must keep my head. I am growing too preoccupied with this. I am turning into a hermit, I rarely venture from my estate any longer. I cannot count the number of ingratiating invitations I have received to various events, those which I turned down without any qualms. I don't want to keep company with those people, I would much rather be…alone. Alone…no, not quite. I still have that _blessed_ horse for company – oh, God. Either I will be the death of him…or he will be the death of me…

* * *

Let me see…what do I have now…? 

I have a broken back and bleeding lips and my arm is now badly scalded. Before, it was quite painful, but now…it feels rather numb.

I look up at the ceiling of what used to be my glorious castle. My fortress, which I shut myself up in like a monk. The roof is now burning as is everything else. Flames surround me, but I am glad that the horse is gone.

The horse…

I really don't know what I was thinking at the time. I took him out for a ride, rode deep into the woods, farther than I had ever gone. He seemed to be under my control, but then he just – bolted. He quite literally knocked the air out of my lungs as he broke into a breakneck speed. I clung to him like burrs on a dog. As I look back on it now, perhaps I should have let go of him before he bounded into the blazing castle with a terrifying gallop. Then I would not be in this position. But for some reason, even though he was tearing through the forest like a monster out of hell, I could not let go. It was as if the two of us were bound together, fused into one terrible creature that was charging toward its own destruction.

And now…

I am alone. No…I have always been alone. Even when I was with that – horse, I have been alone.

I cannot move. I cannot cry out for help. I cannot do anything but wait for the flames to consume me. The smoke and fire are clouding my brain. I – I cannot think straight. Now I wonder if I ever thought sensibly at all. I have not behaved sensibly, I realize that now. Perhaps if I had…no, it does no good now.

I feel strangely calm, or at least I think I do. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I am fifteen…I am too young to die. _Years mean nothing._ I am alone, with no one to help me. _Alone to determine my own decisions, alone to control my own life!_ Are my subjects now planning to save me? No, they probably think I am already dead. If not…then they will wait for me to burn along with the castle. Perhaps if I had endeavored to make myself loved as well as remembered… _Scandals are always remembered more frequently than good deeds, after all. _Why do I keep hearing that prophecy over and over again? _A lofty name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortality of Berlifitzing._ Rider. Horse. Metzengerstein. Berlifitzing. Mortality. Immortality. I am the death of him…he is the death of me…we are the death of each other…

_My Lord Frederick…_

Yes…

_Frederick…why?_

I don't know…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry for everything…

These are the last words I hear in my head before my vision turns to black.


End file.
